Avengers- The Roaring 20s
by OutOfTheGalaxy
Summary: This story follows the avengers, together and apart, over their adventures as if they took place in the 20s.
1. Chapter 1

Hey, just want to establish that I don't own any of the characters. I have been taking a bit of creative license with the whole 20s era. To started out, the first few chapters will be about the Avengers before any of them have meet.

The Before

She knew from the moment she entered the speakeasy that all eyes were on her. Of course, that didn't surprise her. She sashayed through the crowd, the fringe on her midnight blue dress swinging along with her. From her faux-crystal headband and feather to her T-bar shoes, she looked absolutely perfect. Perfect was a word synonymous with her being. Not only that but perfection expected from her. Her contract and employers expected nothing less.

"What a doll!" She heard the whispers. To an untrained eye, that's exactly what she was. But her smile was a little to still and big to be real and it didn't quite reach her eyes. Other agents had memories of which they could draw emotion from. But she? She had no happy memories but that worked for her. Each mission executed with a cold and calculated determination. Happiness was weakness.

She stopped at the decadent bar, where the bottles glinted from the chandelier light. She sat down on one of the upholstered, burgundy bar stools. She crossed her legs carefully, not wanting to disturb the hand gun strapped to her upper thigh. The Tommy guns were awfully hard to conceal and too impractical for her taste. She leaned towards the smaller hand guns. She rolled her bracelet around her wrist, a habit of hers when she was impatient. The bracelet wasn't a bracelet at all but a cleverly disguised chord, perfect for choking. It was one of her favorite weapons. She glanced down the side of the bar at the men, looking for her mark. The mob boss who had hired her hadn't been particular about how she got the job done but insisted that it be done quickly and quietly. She swivled around, scanning the room. She stopped when she saw him, a rather old man dressed very dapper and surrounded by a harem of women. He was in a part of the room roped off as the VIP section. She could get in to the VIP section easily, no doubt. But was that necessary? Her employer had instructed her to get in and get out, leaving no trace visible or otherwise. That was perfectly fine with her. She stepped into the path of the waiter who was heading straight towards the thug.

"My, I am so sorry!" She stammered as she clumsily knocked it to the waiter. The poor chap could do little but stare at her with big saucer eyes and mummer words of apology.

"Oh, It was all my fault," She batted her eyelashes and leaned towards him flirtatiously. All the while distracting him from what she was really doing. She dropped a pill into the single wine glass the waiter carried. It fizzed immediately.

"Wh- Wh- What's your name?" He managed to ask but his words were lost. The sea of people in the speakeasy had swallowed her up. He sighed and returned to his job, wondering if he would ever see the red head again.

"Help! " She was almost out the door when she heard the thud accompanied by feminine screams. The job was done. She left the place feeling empty. She use to take extreme pride in planning and executing her job but now… She was tired.

Part 2

He flashed a smile as the women mobbed him. He couldn't help it. They were like moths drawn to his light. He was intelligent, handsome, and smart. But above all else, he was rich. The world was his to carve out.

"Which ones of you would like to go home with me?" He asked with his usual swagger, already knowing the answer. His question was followed by an eruption of squeals from the dolls.

"How about you?" He grinned pointing to one. She nodded her head, her feathers bobbing furiously.

"And you?" He again joked, pointing to the next. She batted her eyes giving him a devilish smile. He could have and would have continued but he was rather rudely interrupted. He was pulled away by a sharp yank to the ear, pulling him toward the door.

"Really?" The woman sighed, exhausted by his behavior. She was his personal assistant, probably the only thing keeping him on the straight and narrow. She was an impeccably dress woman with a natural air that commanded respect and deference.

"I can't help that they're draw to me. Being a playboy, phil-"He started to say.

"-athropist, and genius is both a curse and a blessing," she sighed, having heard that excuse many time before. She was understandably frustrated. She saw his potential, if only he would listen to her. It was like working for an incredibly smart 8 year old. She brushed non-existent lint of her sweater. She stopped and turned,facing him, her pleated skirt whirling with her. She gave him a hard look.

"You need to get your head out of the gutter. Your father gave you this business and I am not going to let you run it in to the ground," She said with a straight face. He raised his head, looking her in the eyes. He tugged his blue vest down and put on his white jacket, before reaching for his top hat.

"You know me! I always have something up my sleeve. Don't you worry your pretty head off about it, doll," He gave her a wolf grin, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He was the master at save himself at the last moment. But somewhere deep down, her disappointment bothered him, but he buried that part of himself deep down where no one could every find it.

"I am THE playboy, philanthropist, genius!" He winked at her as he signaled the other dolls to follow him out. He gave her one last smile before exiting surrounded by a mob of women, a cloud of perfume, and a song of giggles and high pitched chatter.

She watched him leave and sighed. She tried and tried and tried. But it was like he didn't care.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.

Just a warning but I will be taking a little creative license with the historical element of the story. But of course, I will try to stay as close to historically accurate as I can. This is my first Avengers fanfic, so please be patient. I am still developing the plot lines I plan, but I open to suggestions.

I want to thank all of those of you who are following this story and who wrote reviews. I love, love, love reviews!

Part 3

He was neither tall nor short. His most extraordinary feature was his mind. He was wiry and slight in build. His strength came from the inside, a ball of anger curdling in his stomach. He tried to ignore it but it demanded to be felt. He was ill at ease with himself, always meditating and trying to keep calm. Other men would have killed to have what he had, but he couldn't stand himself.

He stared at the door with resolve, yet his nerves were tangled. God, he hated himself at times. He grabbed his top hat. He wasn't the most fashionable man but he tried. His suit was fashionable, if not a little bland in color. His oxford shoes were very au-current, though.

He exited; his nerves fragile. His eyes darted up and down the street. Walking to work and from work had become an incredibly hard and trying event for him since the incident. He clutched his walking cane with a tight grip. He had always been uncomfortable around people and in groups, before. But now, it was even worse. He only felt at ease in his home and his lab.

He looked up, perturbed by a sudden jolt. There in front of him, as clear as day, he saw a man dip his hand into the purse of some poor woman. No one else seem to notice or they just didn't care. For all his imperfections, he had a soft heart and couldn't stand the idea that the thief would get away.

"Hey, you! Stop!" He yelled drawing the attention of the crowd towards the thief. The man looked up, alarmed. His blue eyes flashed before he jolted off. He, too, sprang forward, intent of catching the man and returning the wallet. The act wasn't entirely coming from the goodness of his heart, a small part of him needed to make up for his cowardliness since the accident. He sprinted after the thief, his stature giving him an advantage as he slipped through the crowd. He followed the thief as he zigged and zagged.

"Watch out, you crazy fool!" A man yelled from his Model T as he darted out in front of the car, still in pursuit of the thief. He waved his hand in apology and continued his hot pursuit.

"Sorry! My apologies, Madame. Excuse me!" He muttered in repeat as he squeezed through the crowd. At several points he almost lost the thief but he was a persistent person. He followed the man down a dark alley. It was a dead end. The man in the dapper coat had disappeared. He looked around but the man wasn't there. Where could he have gone?

"Hello, Chap," He spun when he heard the voice. The thief stepped out of the shadows with a revolver pointed towards him. The man stared at him sweat beading on his forehead, under his blond hair.

"It's nothing personal. I just can't let you go since you've seen my face when I committed a crime. It's either me or you, and of course I am going to chose me," the guy gave him a fox-ish grin. The man advanced forward. As the thief advanced, he stepped back until his back was on the wall.

"It's lights out for you," The thief pressed the revolver to his chest. He closed his eyes trying to constrain and reign in his feelings. He knew what would happen next and it didn't include his death. He clutched his chest and his skin started to tingle. The thief took a step back, confused. The thief blurred in his vision. His vision blurred with green. He tried to take deep breaths but there was no going back. In his last moments of consciousness, he wasn't angry. He was sad.

Part 4

He wondered around the streets, taking his time. He looked up at the tall skyscrapers. His favorite was the one the humans called the Chrysler building. The pamphlet he was holding said the building was Art Deco, whatever that was. He had been wondering around the new city of York. His wonder was highly piqued by each thing he saw. It was new and unique to him, entirely different from his home, Asgard.

When he first came to Earth, he had been ignorant and dismissive of people and their culture. He hadn't had a lot of experience with Earth until he met her. She had taught him about respect and human culture. She was lovely and he thought of her often. He wished that he could visit her but he knew that he couldn't. Visiting her would only hurt them both more. She was human and he was, well, a god. He just couldn't bear the idea of losing her and that was inevitable, especially with all those who envied him and wanted to hurt him. He loved her and wasn't about to let anything happen to her, so he stayed away. It hurt but he thought it best.

He had studied Earth from a far, in his Asgardian chambers through an enchanted pool. He had developed a keen curiosity about Earth and her ways. But looking through the pool wasn't at all like being on Earth, at all. He was filled with a strange sense of wonder and curiosity when it came to all Earth things. It was just so different from Asgard. His cloths were very different. He had stashed away a cache of cloths before he left in case he needed to return again, during his first visit. It was weird how they wore layer after layer and it seemed to have no purpose except decoration. It was different but he had to admit he rather liked how he looked in his pinstriped suit and oxford shoes. The bowler hats were a bit odd but who was he to judge. He did miss his cape, though.

He grinned as he sat on one of the benches in front of Central Park. He watched as these box like things cruised by. He gapped at wonder. He bet she would have been able to explain what these were and how they worked, if she was here. She was a scientist of sorts, one who studied the stars. She seemed to know everything. Stop! Stop! Stop! He had to stop thinking about her. He had to! It was better with both of them.

"Sir? What are those things?" He nudged the man next to him. The man was dress nicely, probably a business man. He crinkled his eyebrows.

"Really? That's a Model T made by Ford" The man got up and gave him a weird look, "You must not get out a lot."

He ignored the man, instead picked up the newspaper the man had left behind. He didn't understand it but he loved it. He inhaled its inky smell and read it veraciously. He couldn't stop, everything was new and enthralling.

He could wonder around forever, but he knew he couldn't. He would always have to return home and now was time. He walked through the park of the center. He stopped finally when he found a small grotto like space that hid him from the curious eyes. The world wasn't ready to know what he was and where he came from.

Suddenly, the sky turned from sunny to cloudy, like the flip of a switch. The sky rumbled and the air was thick. Rain fell down in sheets, soaking the land and anyone caught in the cross fire. A single beam of lightning electrified the sky. It connected to the Earth right at his feet. A rainbow broke through the shield of clouds and sucked him up, like a vortex. It was time he returned home.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey! First, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed and followed my story! Please, please, please review! I am working on plot ideas, so I am open to any suggestions.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, sadly.

Okay, so when I started on Steve's story, I ran into some problems. So, I will be starting his story after he gets thawed out. I do intend to go back and cover what happened before the thawing in a flashback story. This is the last part of The Before sequence.

Part 5

He climbed the winding stairs, step after step. Foot after Foot, he moved forward in a thoughtless motion. Once, he reached the roof of the skyscraper he stopped. He walked the perimeter, checking for people. But there weren't any, not many people liked heights. He walked straight to the ledge and looked down, watching the tiny Model T cars go by and the specs of people amble along. He let out a low whistle, doing the math in his head about how high off the ground he was. But heights didn't really bother him for he knew he wouldn't fall. Rather, he liked heights, exceedingly. This was why he was the perfect man for the job.

He took off his suit jacket, unbuttoned his vest and set down his brief case. He laid them neatly over the top of the nearest air vent, shedding his gloves and bowler hat along with them. He needed an unrestrained range of movement and his slacks, suspenders, and crisp white long shirt afforded him that. The only thing better was him being stark naked but that was highly frowned upon by S.H.E.I.L.D. since the incident in '18.

He opened up his briefcase. Nestled inside was a folded arrows and bow, made especially for him

"You are one lucky man!" He muttered. He was excited by the prospect of trying his new arrows out. S.H.E.I.L.D. always provided the best for their best agent. He didn't like killing but none the less, he liked making the world a better place. He owed it to all the people he had wronged. S.H.E.I.L.D. needed someone to take down national and international threats, so they sent him.

He closed his eyes, thinking back to when he was looking over the case file at the S.H.E.I.L.D. base. The face of Viktor Ivankov, a Russian mobster, popped into his mind. S.H.E.I.L.D. had caught wind that he was planning to sell secrets, American secrets, to the highest bidder. Viktor was an untrusting fellow, much to S.H.E.I.L.D.'s delight. He and only he knew the secrets, so you take him out and the exposed secrets die with him. But as there always is, there was one problem. Viktor hired a gang of thugs to protect him at all times. This made it hard for agents to exterminate him. But he was no normal agent; he was what you would call an aerial expert. The only thing else needed was a distraction.

Out of the corner of his vision he saw the car. It had to be Viktor on his way to sell his secrets. He could spot it because it was nicer, polished and shining. It fit Viktor's M.O. for decadency. He strung his bow, the tip of the arrow following the car, as he perched on the edge of the roof. Now, he just had to wait for the distraction.

Out of nowhere, a dinky, brown Model T seemed to appear. With a swerve it crashed into Viktor's car, making a big commotion. The driver slid out and dashed in the opposite direction, hiding in the crowd of people. The back of Viktor's car was totaled. A few thugs managed to crawl out and immediately sprung forward to help their boss out of the car. Viktor stumbled, even with his thug's help. A red streak dribbled across his forehead from an unseemly gash.

He raised his bow, finding Viktor in his crosshairs. He took in a deep breath. As he exhaled, he let the arrow fly. The arrow went cleanly through Viktor's eye, killing his immediately. He crumpled to the ground, his buffoons gawking at him.

He shoved his foldable bow back into his brief case and grabbed his outerwear as he dashed for the stairs. He was gone before the thugs were any the wiser.

Part 6

He sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Waking up was a sad event for him. Each night he dreamed of her and of the time they could have had together. He started his morning ritual, shoving aside his blankets. He walked straight to the front door of his apartment. He opened the door and gently lifted up the newspaper, closing the door as he went back inside. He scanned the top of the front page. He read the date aloud. He had known, even before reading the newspaper but some small part of him held out hope that it wasn't true.

Learning that it wasn't the 1770s and that they weren't at war with the British had been brutal. The 144 or so years on ice had robbed him of friends, family, and a normal life. A day didn't go past without him thinking of her. Even though S.H.E.I.L.D. pushed him to explore, he was hesitant. It was no longer the world he knew. Everything was twisted and warped with new things replacing the old he was familiar with. He almost had a heart attack the first time he saw women's clothing. In his time, it was social suicide for a woman to show her ankles but now dresses were knee length!

He no longer gawked but it was hard for him not to be wistful for the old days. For someone who had missed out on 144 years of progress, S.H.E.I.L.D. had to admit that he was adapting at a good rate. But him? No, he just felt lost.

He got ready for the day. He took meticulous care in dressing. He wanted to get it right. He was already the outsider and didn't want to be that even more so. He left his apartment, forcing himself to be a part of the outside world. He knew that S.H.E.I.L.D. hadn't un-thawed him out of the genuine kindness of their hearts but because they needed him. He had once been America's hero and he knew they wanted him to be that hero again. Part of him really like that idea. He still felt pride and faith in his country, for despite everything they had come far.

He headed first to the Cinema. Of all the new things he in countered, this was the one he took to the fastest. He loved the idea of movies. He watched enrapt as the action flashed across the screen. The idea was just so novel to him. He didn't understand quite how they were made, but he loved it none the less. He tapped his shoes to the beat of the tune the pianist played to accompany the film.

He left with a feeling of childish joy. He watched, silently, as the cars passed by. He had yet to ride in one. A S.H.E.I.L.D. operative was supposed to teach him how to drive sometime next week, but he wasn't too keen to get in the steel box of doom. But he couldn't let his fears hold him back. That wasn't who he was. American needed a hero and he was determined to be that man, again.


End file.
